Paramythi I: City of Glass

There was too little sound in the air when Alexis Iphigenia was laid to rest upon one of Tentrails many cliffs, which overlooked Emvolo’s gleaming city.

Alexis’ body had been collected by a second crew of Rebels who had volunteered to venture down to the city’s grounds with the possible risk of being caught. Thankfully, no-one else was harmed in the church and the young woman’s body came back to the base. She was given a thorough examination and numerous paperwork had been filled. Everything seemed to happen so fast, so precise, that Psykhe had begun to see the patterns. She realised this was not some kind of foreign happening. No more than a whole month had gone by since she and Elias had been appointed mission-appropriate, and already she had seen two members of the Rebellion die.

It was beginning to make her numb; inside and out.

“She had no family,” said Damara during the funeral. Her long hair, which usually swayed behind her back in tight braids, were strung up into a firm bun atop her head. Her eyes looked bigger somehow, offering a light glimmer of the yellow essence of her irises. “The reason she joined the Rebellion was for them, to fill the holes her deceased bloodline had made.”

Psykhe had been standing the closest to the high stack of memorial logs and sticks, watching on as the outline of Alexis’ body, wrapped up with the softest of skin, burned away with the roaring flames Ares, Calix and Damara had laid upon their departed teammate; a tradition among units and closest friends within the Rebellion.

With a deep inhale of smoky-sea air, Psykhe turned her head to look at Damara’s perfectly structured face. “Alexis didn’t tell me anything about her family.” She admitted solemnly.

“No, I had guessed as much.” Damara nodded. She lifted a hand and grasped Psykhe’s shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against the exposed skin just beneath the strap of her dress – a dress Psykhe would not have worn for any other occasion. “She was not one to open up so easily. If…If she were still here, I am sure the both of you would have become close enough for her to tell you the story.”

Psykhe shook her head. The smile on her lips was nothing akin to amusement. She felt horribly empty inside; sick. “There’s no point in talking about ‘what if’s’ today.”

“Agreed.” Damara lowered her hand and returned her gaze towards the burning flames. There was sorrow in her distant eyes and the straight line upon her full lips was somewhat saddening, even if she did not shed a tear or cry out for her partner. It looked as though she was waiting rather than mourning as if she were expecting Alexis’ thoughts to whisper in her mind at any moment. “But I know she wanted to tell you. She never told me, of course, but I knew the story already. As her friend, I will tell you, instead. I am quite gifted in the art of story-telling, thanks to my ability.”

Psykhe could read the playful lilt in Damara’s voice, yet was unable to offer a smirk or change of expression to encourage any kind of playfulness. “I’ll think about it…” She murmured, perhaps almost inaudible for anyone standing close enough. Alas, Damara would be able to hear her; even if she could not hear her voice.

Nodding, Damara strode away from Psykhe and joined Ares and Calix. The latter of which was sitting comfortably upon the ground with a brace around his neck, a purple cast around his chest to support his broken ribs and a splint in his left leg. Ares stood beside him, holding the crutches Calix had been using to move around with ever since Neoma let him leave the infirmary.

There was an unspoken amount of guilt upon Ares’ face. Everyone knew just how much he blamed himself for everything that had happened, everything that he put Tovi and his teammates through. He could hardly look Calix in the eyes without feeling hollow, yet it seemed only Damara could sense that much. They would heal. It would be a slow recovery, but the three of them knew they would eventually reach a similar state as they once had. Only this time it would be without the comforting aura of Alexis.

Psykhe exhaled. The orange tinge from the sun illuminating the whole scene would make her eyes water if she cared to look away from Alexis’ remains. She tried to tell herself not to let such a loss impact her any more than it already had and that the bond she and Alexis had formed would make things easier to move on and forget. It was a comforting idea, at least for a second. Yet is was quickly discarded when small sobs escaped into the open air. It took a moment for Psykhe to realise such sounds were coming from her own throat.

Holding back any further cry or pitiful sound, Psykhe swallowed down the stiff lump in her throat and raised her arm. She pressed her eyes against her forearm, inhaled deeply and grit her teeth. There was one question which had begun to claw at the back of her mind, a question she would strive to get the answer for upon her return to the base; where was Kane Ruskin?

Elias moved sluggishly, cradling packets of sterilised equipment requested by Neoma.

He had been asked to take the supplies down the hall and leave them in the lonesome trolley parked on the edge of the corner beside the elevator. Sighing solemnly, he accomplished his task with little effort and wiped the palms of his hands over his thighs to rid the sweaty clamminess on his skin. He was tired from worry for Maxa and was still in the process of healing from the Prowler attack he had sustained. Alas, he figured such excuses were no exception for his attitude and the way he had been acting towards his friends.

The idea of talking with Helios and Riyo, to apologise, had come to mind more than once, yet Elias seemed incapable of pulling himself too far from Maxa’s bedside.

“—do you have any idea what else this evening might entail?”

Elias was brought away from his distant thoughts and stood back. His eyes flickered towards the elevator doors just as they slid open and Ciiria stepped out.

Her red hair was pulled back, braided either side just above her ears and tied up in curls which flowed downward, cupping her face. A blouse fitted the curves of her torso, exposing her long neck and shoulders. The dark fabric clung to her arms and dangled across her hands in small, black tassels. If she were to bend to one side, the smooth skin of her middle would be exposed, thus granting Elias with the opportunity to notice the snake tattoo on the middle of her back. But she did not bend to the side. Instead, she took long strides forward and kept her posture straight; mainly due to the tight skirt keeping her legs together as she moved, sharp heels tapping with fury.

She was dressed to impress, and not in a professional sense like she would present daily at the base, but rather an impressionable demeanour which includes her power as a chairwoman for the Rebellion.

Kane stepped out next, presenting a similar aura of power as Ciiria. He was not dressed in his usual long coat, but was instead fitted into a tight button down shirt which barely creased unless he flexed the wrong way. A golden pendant hung loosely from around his neck, tucked under the collar of his shirt with only the oval shape of the jewel visibly gleaming atop his breast. He was clean shaven and his hair was tucked back and slicked down with some unnamed product to keep it in place. Moving in a tight pair of slacks, Kane paused and turned his head, the soft ‘squeak’ from his polished shoes rubbing against the floor as he came to a stop.

“Kara,” addressing Elias with a light tone, thus signalling Ciiria from walking any further without him, Kane nodded. “Have you seen Neoma?”

Elias swallowed, unaware he had been so focused on examining every detail on his superiors’ clothes. His bleary vision and lack of attention reminded him just how tired he was and, with a small inhale, he shook his head. “No. Ugh, she told me to take these down to the porter’s trolley earlier, but I have no idea where she went.”

“Perhaps she’s busy writing reports,” Ciiria said. “Kane, we should get going if we are to make it in time. I would hate to appear incapable of keeping track of the hour by these bastards.”

“Where are you going?” Elias blurted. The question slipped past his lips before he could stop himself and he winced, forcing himself to look away from the eyes staring down at him. “I mean, I heard we were having an evening party here at the base…are you two not staying for that?”

“Afraid not,” Ciiria shook her head. “We have business in the city. Reidonn and Quincy will be responsible for observing the party here tonight while we are away.” With a sigh, the woman adjusted the gold studs in her ears and turned to Kane, hand upon her hip. “Are we ready?”

Kane nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Kara, be sure to tell Neoma that Ciiria and I shan’t be here tonight. I had hoped to tell her myself but if she is absent, we cannot afford to waste time looking for her.”

“Sure.” Said Elias. He took a step back and followed Ciiria and Kane’s movements with his eyes. There was a heavy weight building in his chest as he watched them disappear down the hall to make their way over to the other elevator – the elevator which would take them down to the hanging bay and steal his chance of talking with them alone. The idea of missing an opportunity such as this was the very reason Elias stepped out and raised his voice, “Kane, sir, can I ask you something?”

The look on Kane’s face seemed akin to surprise when he turned, glancing back to examine the young Rebel. “Of course, Kara. But could it wait until I return? This is rather urgent—”

“Did you know my mother?” Elias’ voice was shaky and his forehead had broken out in a shine of sweat; nervous by his own courage and the disrespect he was granting. “I-I mean, I know you knew of her…you know of everyone in the Rebellion. I just mean, did you know her well?”

“Kara, I really need to be somewhere—”

“Was the only reason you let me join because of her?!”

The expression on Kane’s face turned grim and the edges of his lips turned downward. His right eye twitched; even if for a moment. It seemed Ciiria was not oblivious to her captain’s change of emotion and she stood back, arms crossing over her chest whilst she sighed into the air. She was kind enough to cut the silence, although the meaning of her words was anything but kind.

“I will see you in the hanger, Kane.”

Kane did not pay Ciiria’s words much acknowledgement, nor did he turn to confirm he would be joining her after speaking with Elias. He did very little other than suck a deep draw of breath which expanded his chest and creased the fabric of the white shirt across his torso.

Elias swallowed down the nerves bundling up in his throat. He could almost hear Kane’s unspoken words in his ears, acknowledging the fact his place here in the Rebellion was linked to a relationship Kane might have shared with his mother, a woman whom Elias could not remember no matter how hard he tried. It hurt, but at the time he knew he could accept it if Kane were to confirm it. Perhaps the easiness of being accepted into the Rebellion would all make sense after that and he would no longer need to question himself over and over.

It would help him accept the fact the Rebellion may not be for him.

“Penelope Kara was one of our leading officers.” When Kane spoke, his expression had turned gentle. The grim lines on his face had disappeared and his voice was calming. “When she fell pregnant with you, she left us for a short amount of time. It was a year later, during a Prowler outbreak on Capitol’s behalf, when Penelope sent a message straight through to Ciiria’s inbox with a plan of containing the attack and to stop it from spreading to the borders. After all, the last thing we needed was to give Minoas a solid reason for starting a war with Emvolo, that would have been a step in the wrong direction for the Rebellion’s progress.”

Elias could feel the edges of his eyes tearing up, yet he pressed on. “What happened…?” His voice was quiet and watery, riddled with a sorrow he could not control.

Kane turned his head down. Elias was almost certain the emotion pooling in Kane’s eyes had been guilt. “Ciiria was quick to put Penelope’s plans to action and she sent a wave of our best units out to create a plan of strategy against the Prowlers. I had returned from a mission further to the south of Galaxis and was informed of the situation as I flew over the borders of Minoas. It was my idea to call Penelope out to the front, thinking I could meet her on my way to Emvolo’s border,” he paused and his jaw tensed. “I’m afraid that my plans did not go accordingly. As I crossed the border, my radio came on and the sounds of Prowlers and screams were all that filled my aircraft. I was too late. I was responsible for drawing Penelope out into the open.”

Elias had been leaning against the trolley by now, unaware of when he had chosen to move and vaguely wondered if it had been a small need for support. He was unable to choose his words and found himself swallowing the tension around him and cleared his throat. “You were thinking of Emvolo, Captain… my mother would have known that. She was part of the Rebellion, after all.”

“Indeed, she was one of our best Rebels. I’m sorry you never got to meet her.” Kane murmured, an uncharacteristic trait of his. “Kara, Elias, whatever your mother might have done during her time as a Rebel had very little effect on your journey here. It is no lie that I took you on with Penelope’s memory in mind, but I would not welcome just anyone into the Rebellion unless I was convinced that they could do something to change the world and help our cause.”

“Yes, sir.” Said Elias, bleary vision and fatigue wearing down the urge to press further. The answer seemed clear enough and yet he was still stuck in place as if Kane’s truth was not the truth he needed. “I just don’t believe I should be here, in the Rebellion.”

“Why would you say that?” Asked Kane. The way his eyelids drew open promoted the genuine surprise in his voice and Elias was more than a little taken aback by the change in the air. “You told me you wanted to change the world, make it a place you could be happy to be a part of. This hasn’t changed, has it?”

Elias’ mouth had opened to reply, although no coherent sound or word slipped past his thin lips. He was frozen for a good moment, contemplating on the choice of words he should use before his superior in order to grant himself something akin to an honourable reputation and to not give Kane a reason to kick him out of the Rebellion at first chance.

“My desires haven’t changed, sir. I just can’t see myself being the person to accomplish those kinds of ideas. So far, I haven’t been able to do anything. Psykhe has more chance here than I ever will, even Helios and Riyo serve as better soldiers while I just seem to cause trouble and get in the way.”

Of all the things Kane could have offered as a response, he smirked. A light scoff of a sound also left his amused expression and he shook his head. After checking the golden wristwatch peeking out from the hem of his sleeve, Kane drew back and his aura changed to the trademark expression of an unreadable leader.

He said, “I was young when Ciiria and I met. We were a lot like you and Psykhe. Ciiria also took the spotlight and I was often left in the background, wondering if I would ever achieve my dreams while I… well, will I basically walked in her shadow. It just took me a while to realise I was walking in her shadow because I made myself walk in her shadow, turns out there was room for me by her side all along.”

The thought of standing equal to Psykhe felt odd for Elias. It almost felt as unrealistic as everything else he had mentally promised himself; glory, fame, the chance to prove to his sister he was capable of achieving something great on his own.

“You don’t have to be a hero on your own, Kara,” Kane chuckled as if reading the young Rebel’s thoughts. “Sooner or later, your time will come and your abilities will certainly be recognised. Everyone has their own role here, and while it may not always be out in the open like some peoples’, it will be acknowledged nonetheless. Now, I really must get going, otherwise, Ciiria will leave without me.”

“Yeah, okay, thank you,” Elias waved his hands through the air. He was flustered, puzzled and oddly relieved at Kane’s words. “I’m sorry for holding you up, sir.”

“No apologies needed, you were clearly in need of a talking to,” Kane said. With a swift turn of his heel, he began venturing down the hall in Ciiria’s wake, large hands fit for a pianist slipping into the tight pockets against his thighs. “You should talk with your partner whenever you feel doubtful, I’m sure they might need it too.”

Elias felt hollow again. The flustered feelings and relief he had been marvelling in had vanished almost as quickly as it had arrived. He wanted to raise his voice, remind Kane that he did not have a partner anymore – and grew sceptical when Kane made no attempts to correct himself since the knowledge that Elias Kara having no partner was not a foreign piece of information to him, especially after assigning Psykhe and Elias to the same mission only a short while ago.

Alas, like most things, Elias was too late to speak up and Kane was gone.

Ciiria had made her presence within Capitol well-known for everyone the moment she set foot on land.

Kane had been the more reserved of the two as they allowed some golden-haired snob to take their aircraft and fly it to a more secluded area; perhaps to lessen suspicion on civilians who otherwise assumed Rebels would not be attending this evening’s event. Coincidentally, the very date Kane had chosen to hold a celebration for the younger Rebels in the base was Governor Phobos’ birthday. It was an annual event which Kane and Ciiria could not afford to miss, especially if they wished to uphold their peculiar alliance. Showing their faces and keeping up appearances was not an extravagant task to carry out in order to keep their base afloat in Emvolo’s territory.

“Capitol never understood how to maintain their heating system.” Ciiria muttered, waltzing into the Grand Hall, a large building in the centre of Capitol which held many court cases and law-related issues or stories. It was also an ideal place to hold a celebration such as the Governor’s birthday. “Or perhaps their new motives are to freeze us alive in order to reduce bacteria spread and all that?”

“Must you be so obvious?” Kane whispered. He forced a smile when a tall man walked by with his wife, or whom Kane assumed to be their wife. “We are here as guests, so we should be on our best behaviour.” In a low tone, Kane pressed the palm of his hand upon Ciiria’s lower back and urged her inside the Grand Hall before they could become the reason for human-traffic on the doorstep.

A short, blonde woman with winged eyeliner and lipstick in the same shade as her glittery golden dress held out her hand, silently requesting Kane and Ciiria’s invitations. A moment of reluctance crossed Ciiria’s expression before she handed over the white envelope and awaited her name to be called out as an introduction.

“Miss Ciiria Zabitha-Adrestia and Sir Kane Ruskin,” in a high squeaky voice, the blonde woman waved her hand through the air and bowed, albeit reluctantly, as Kane and Ciiria stepped into the crowd of red and gold.

“If we keep to ourselves, I’m certain there won’t be any trouble.” Kane sighed. His large hand was enclosed around Ciiria’s elbow and he walked her over to the furthest corner of the room, beside a large staircase made up of golden railings and covered in a red carpet leading up to the next floor. “Phobos probably won’t even notice us.”

Ciiria rolled her eyes and yanked her elbow free from Kane’s grasp. “I don’t need to be spoken to as if I am a child,” she snipped. Her back was pressed to the staircase and she reached out, plucking a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray. “I am quite capable of presenting myself,” taking a large gulp from her glass, she tore a glare from one face to another, “and can make my own decisions.”

Kane smiled, even if slightly. He clasped his hands behind his back and tried to make idle conversation with Ciiria in order to keep people from waltzing over and interfering. Thankfully the majority of the room seemed to avoid the duo and went on their own business, mingling and conversing with each other; possibly raising the topic of the Rebellion as some kind of ironic statement within Kane and Ciiria’s presence.

Nonetheless, the two managed to go without interruption for at least forty minutes before someone decided to walk over to them. Much to Ciiria’s disapproval, it was Phobos herself.

“So, Ruskin’s flying tonight, is he?” The Governor pursed her lips, flaunting the dark brown lipstick which suited her otherwise dark features. The pale complexion of her skin had been blended, thus raising the look of her high cheekbones and her eyes were adorned in their usual smoky eyeshadow and curled eyelashes. A white, strapless dress fit around her narrow torso and her black hair was loose down her back. “Honestly, Ciiria, not even an hour here and you’re already drinking.”

“Oh, Phobos, not even a day in and you already look older.” Ciiria forced a smile and swallowed the rest of her drink.

Phobos puckered her lips, hip jutting out as she shifted her weight to one leg. “And did you a bring a gift for moi?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Indeed. Your presence is as obvious as always.”

Kane took a moment to clear his throat and pull the tension from both women onto himself. “I believe civil mannerisms are in order, yes?” He suggested, nodding between them. “Happy birthday, Governor.”

Phobos smirked. “Sweet boy. Ciiria should really learn a thing or two from you.” Grasping Kane’s chin with her thumb and forefinger, the woman sighed. “I do hope any little annoyance you might be facing has been resolved. One of my men seem to have undergone a small hindrance at the docks as of late, I wondered if your crew might have been involved?”

Kane pulled his chin free and cleared his throat, hardly intimidated by the power Phobos was trying to exploit. “I had reports showing suspicious activity in the area, yes. I believe the dock manager was set-up after someone snuck a suitcase inside one of the storage huts. Unfortunately, it was opened and a hoard of Prowlers was set loose. We managed, however.”

Phobos raised a brow. “I gave permission for Skliros to take his own Prowlers during his collection of fees from the docks. Upon his return, I had him sent to court for further suspicion that he was neglecting his responsibility here among Capitol’s ranks – but I never allowed him to set Miss Kara up with something as trivial as a suitcase filled with a Prowler’s call. The fault is not mine, although Skliros is one of many irresponsible men, I’m sure you have those kinds of irresponsibility in your little Rebellion, yes?”

Holding Kane’s gaze, Phobos flashed her white teeth and turned to Ciiria.

“Speaking of irresponsible men, I have a message to relay. I have received reports straight to my own inbox regarding the recent details of the Rebellion’s acts. As it turns out, it seems your Rebels are killing more people than they are saving and it is up to myself and my advisors to come together in a meeting next week to discuss whether your freedom shall continue as you please it.”

“Oh, please! That is a load of falsified information!” Ciiria snapped, just loud enough for the closest groups of people to turn their heads in surprise and disgust. “Our own progress should not be passed on to you in detail. Have our actions truly affected your morale so badly?”

Phobos raised her hands in protest. “Hush, you’ll make a scene for yourself my dear.” With a grin like a fox, the woman turned. “Deimos, come over here, would you?”

From amongst the crowd, Deimos appeared. His coral hair had been swept back and his usual visage of button-down shirts and tight slacks made his formal appearance seem like a norm. “Greetings chairwoman,” he smiled towards Ciiria, then looked at Kane. “Ruskin, how are you?”

“They are not feeling their best, sadly.” Phobos pouted. Her voice was fake with sorrow and she rolled a shoulder, motioning towards Ciiria’s angered expression. “Dei, would you please explain to them what you told the council this morning? About the reports we got from our anonymous favourite?”

Deimos lowered his eyes from Kane’s, clearly avoiding the disappointed approval he was gaining from him. Swallowing the tension in his throat, the man gestured with his hand as he spoke. “It saddens me to think one of your own troops decided to turn on you like this—”

“Get to the point, Deimos.” Said Phobos, cutting through the man’s words like a knife through butter.

Exhaling deeply, Deimos spoke again. “We have received a report from an anonymous individual who claims the Rebellion is no longer acting accordingly to the rules stated by the Governor. Due to the latest missions and actions taken on by the Rebellion, a number of good people have either returned to the base critically injured or dead. They also state that the sacrifices made by Kane Ruskin and Ciiria Zabitha-Adrestia are not justified when it means more people dying than living.”

Ciiria looked away from Deimos, her wide eyes challenging Phobos’ smug expression. She wanted to shove the woman or strike her stark across the cheek, yet that would not justify anything other than her own self-esteem. She refrained from speaking straight away and allowed Kane the time to process this information.

“As you see, the situation seems dire, so we cannot allow it to go unnoticed any longer now that the people of Emvolo have turned to us for protection.” Phobos crossed her arms. “I shall send a messenger to your base within the following week to inspect your actions and we will keep you informed of our future meetings on what to do with the Rebellion. Now, please, enjoy the party.”

Deimos hurriedly walked after Phobos, moving much quicker than he usually would as a way to escape Kane’s possible clutches and questioning. He glanced back once, only to wish he had not when Kane’s cold, blue eyes bore holes into his skin like fire.

“One of our own men, hm?” Ciiria scoffed. She swiftly grasped another glass of wine from a passing waiter and replaced it with her empty one. “Any ideas who it might be?”

“Yeah,” Kane grunted. He shook his head and sent a small prayer to the Gods above that tonight would not last much longer. “I have an idea who it could be.”